Chapter 11

Whatever drugs had been in that cola, turned my blood into sludge and pissed off my brain. While I awoke to having the use of my limbs, getting out of the bed was still difficult. I thought about going to the hospital, the police, but quickly dismissed both ideas.

Was Justin even alive?

The thought made my chest tight and each breath harder to drag in than the last. Brady said he'd take care of it.

I'm gonna throw up.

I ran for the bathroom, making it just in time before the stomach acid came barreling up my esophagus. The skin around my skull tightened until I thought it would rip apart. I stood on shaky legs, grabbing the sink for support.

My reflection looked awful. Runny eyeliner, pale skin, and messy hair. I grabbed my toothbrush and began removing the nasty taste from my mouth. I needed a vacation. A dark room with no entrances, a pillow fort in the center, and a tv that played nothing but happy uplifting movies.

Or maybe a padded room.

I rinsed my mouth then turned the shower on full blast. No amount of soap seemed to make me feel clean as I all but rubbed my skin raw. More bile threatened to escape as I thought over what would have happened if Brady hadn't appeared to rescue me.

I had no idea what time it was, but something told me I was late for class. It was really hard to care. No way could I surround myself with people. I couldn't bring myself to do it. What if he was there? What if I had to face him? Would Brady wipe his memory?

Or the darker question, what if he wasn't?

I climbed out, wrapped the towel around me, and walked back to the bedroom for clothes. Once dressed, I stared between the bed and the doorway. I could lay back down, bury myself in the covers and pretend I didn't exist, or I could venture out and see if a murder had taken place.

I needed to know.

I slipped on my shoes, grabbed my keys, then stared down in puzzlement. How did my keys get here?

Brady.

To further prove the theory, I found a note taped to the inside of my door.

Sweetheart,

I took care of it.

You should probably rest.

School's been cancelled.

Things happened at a party.

I'll see you before you see me... literally.

Love,

The Landlord

P.S. Rent's due

I gaped at the paper, eyes wide as I read then reread it's contents. Things happened. Things that made them cancel school. "Shit!" I jerked the door open and ran for my car. It couldn't be true. He didn't die. Maybe Brady just beat him up a bit. The image of Justin, covered in spiders, and twitching in agony against a wall flashed though my mind.

"Please don't be dead," I pleaded to no one that could hear me. Jail, yes. Even the spider thing, totally okay. I mean, fuck that guy. But- dead? No. Not dead. Not because of my monster. If my monster could kill Justin, then...

Another piece of paper was attached to my driver's side window.

If you're reading this, you're not resting,

Probably because you're freaking out,

You always freak out,

that's how I know,

Yes,

He's dead,

It's very, very sad,

For some,

Try not to need saving for a bit,

It will be hard, I know, but I believe in you

My legs gave out, and I had to grip the hood of the car to keep from falling. He'd killed him. It killed someone.

This is my fault.

If I hadn't gone to that party. If I hadn't worn that dress, hadn't drunk that soda, hadn't been so fucking stupid. I knew the risks. I knew I was putting him in danger.

I killed him.

Bile rose into my throat, and I heaved onto the ground beside my feet. Things had gone too far. There was no going back from this. I needed to do something.

I looked back at the little house that was supposed to be my refuge as I built a future. The first thing I needed to do was get out of it, and the second...

I needed to get rid of Brady.

My chest tightened involuntarily. I envisioned him, leaned over me in my most vulnerable moment, murmuring soothing words, offering a lifeline only he could provide.

If he hadn't–

No! I yanked my car door open and jumped inside. He'd gotten to me, used some power, played with my head. I was entertainment. Just because he saved me didn't mean anything.

He'd said it before. You're mine. It wasn't kindness. It wasn't out of love. It was territorial, possessive.

I hit the road with no intention of going back. My stuff could stay. I'd buy new stuff. Maybe that was the problem. None of the old should have come with me to the new. I should have left it all back home and started fresh.

👻👻👻

A new hotel room, a call to secure a dorm room on campus, then another to my mother. Pests. Bedbugs. It was enough to convince her that I needed to move, that my stuff was unsalvageable. She promised to send money, a fact that only added to the intense guilt I felt. It weighed my shoulders down, heavy, as if a child were constantly sitting on them. My mother wasn't rich. She'd never admit to the struggle, but ever since my father left, I knew she did.

It wasn't easy raising a child alone, especially a child with issues like mine.

I'd taken another shower, thrown on the only pajamas I had, which weren't much more than underwear considering I'd abandoned my things. I sat in the middle of the queen sized bed and opened my laptop.

How to get rid of a Jinn.

An array of different links popped up. Most of them involving exorcists. I snorted. Well I already knew that didn't work.

As I scrolled further, digging deeper into the content, I started to find other questions. What does a Jinn look like? Do I have a Jinn? Are Jinn able to physically hurt you? I decided to click on one with a link, and it took me to a page full of testimonials.

I read through them, skimming the different stories, reading the conversations and responses. It's a support group. My adrenaline rushed. I've found a support group.

I tried to find one similar to mine, but most almost seemed humorous in comparison. My cabinet doors open and close by themselves. "Close your window lady," I murmured. I hear strange noises at night. "Join the club. Do yours come with a six-foot five walking pile of sex on legs?"

My girlfriends keep becoming obsessed. I pulled the computer into my lap and gripped the top as I read.

Every girlfriend I've ever had eventually starts to drink. Their eyes go hollow, the same eyes, every time. It doesn't matter what color they are in that beginning, they turn green. The sweetest girls turn vile. They berate me in public, humiliate me then laugh. Each time I try to leave they always say the same thing.

"It will always be me."

An email address was included at the bottom of his post, urging anyone who could help to please contact him.

With shaking fingers, I pulled up my email and began to type. I included my phone number and a short explanation of my own situation. When I finished, I gave it one read through. I sounded desperate, begging even.

I am desperate, I thought, clicking send.

I closed my laptop and grabbed my phone, as if the man would call me in that second, praying that he would.

A knock sounded on the door. I got up and slowly padded over to look out the peephole.

Brady stood there, and he didn't look happy.

😂😂😂😂❤️💀